


The Gardenhead Knows My Name

by warmommy



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Counter Espionage, Double Espionage, Espionage, F/M, TRUST NO ONE, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/pseuds/warmommy
Summary: Told through a series of interviews and flashbacks, the story slowly comes together of love and affairs, espionage, political marriages, and revenge. The one question that begs answered, now that the whole ruddy war is kaput: Who is Domino?Or, Once Upon A Time In Nazi-Occupied France...





	1. 1; Fredrick Zoller

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can also find this on my tumblr @warmommy.

The lamplight clicked and buzzed as it lit him. Fredrick Zoller looked up at it, at the light that had already attracted insects and illuminated the thick plumes of smoke that rolled and tumbled through the air. He cleared his throat, carefully leaning his elbows against the rolled steel table. There was a glass of tepid water placed almost beyond his reach; his hands were bound by handcuffs, threaded through an enormous loop welded onto the table’s surface.

The Englishman across the table lit another cigar. The paper and tobacco hissed as it ignited and he huffed loudly, coaxing it to life. He lifted a stack of papers inside a folder that had Fredrick’s picture on the cover, the one that was taken of him for his identification papers when he’d entered the Wehrmacht. It really had not been long ago, chronologically speaking. There was little in the way of time that separated him from the boy in that photograph. A thousand years’ worth of events, of moments, that was what truly mattered, and that was what left him changed, irrevocably.

Now, the Englishman cleared his throat, spoke to him in battered German. “ _Tell us about Domino._ ”

Fredrick pressed his lips into a smile and reached for the tepid glass of water, taking a sip. He looked at the white gold band still on his left ring finger, stared at it as he set the glass down again. “ _Can you tell me about Dominique, please? Can you tell me if my wife is alive?_ ”

“ _Start from the beginning,”_  the Englishman said, ignoring his question.

Fredrick wanted to persist. He needed to. “ _All I would like to know is if she is okay, and I will cooperate with whatever questions that you have. She is very precious to me, as I imagine you can understand, I see that you, yourself, are a married man._ ”

He had bloodshot eyes and heavy bags underneath them. Fredrick could see red imperfections all over the man’s face. His skin seemed loose. He just looked at Fredrick, blinking short eyelashes flecked with grey. Finally, he gave the papers another shuffle when someone knocked at the door of the interrogation room.

A much younger man appeared then, speaking in English. Fredrick didn’t have perfect command of the language, but he understood the younger man was telling the other that he ‘could take it from here’. He was tall, good-looking, blue-eyed, young, and his German was near-flawless, if it weren’t for that accent.

“ _Well, old boy, I see we’ve got our Katzenjammer Kid._ ” He sat in place of the other man, who’d left the room. He lit a cigarette, illuminating a neatly kept mustache, and offered the pack to Fredrick.

“ _No thank you, I don’t smoke._ ” Fredrick tried smiling again, but it was far less convincing. “ _What can you tell me about my wife, please? I’ll cooperate fully with your questioning–_ ”

“ _What I **can**  tell you about your wife is not the real question. The real question, of course, is what WILL I tell you about your wife. This Mrs…Dominique-Sixtine Léopoldine Celeste Mignon-Zoller. Well. That was quite an exercise for the old jaws._” The younger Englishman took back his cigarettes and lighter, putting them away inside his jacket without taking those big blue eyes off of Fredrick. “ _Terribly sorry for being so discourteous, I know your name, but you’re unaware of my own. Lieutenant Archie Hicox, I’ve been working with the United Kingdom and British Expeditionary Forces in our rather successful endeavour to overthrow your Reich._ ”

Fredrick swallowed, reaching for the water glass again. “ _I am a private of the Wehrmacht and not the monster you’re trying to prematurely paint. First and foremost, I am a husband, and I’m going to be a father. **Please** , the only thing I ask is to know Domino is alive and well, that she is  **safe** –_”

“ _Then I suppose it’s time you began to loosen your lips._ ” Archie leaned back, taking a thoughtful drag, and crossed his knee over the other. ” _Come on, old boy. When did you first meet Dominique?_ “

Fredrick followed suit, sitting back now, eyes peering up at that buzzing light, circled by insects with papery wings. Tears lined his eyes, frustration, fright, anger, and maybe a touch of sadness, maybe a bit more overwhelming anxiety than he’d even like to cop to in his own mind. ” _When did you meet the stars? When did you meet the sun?_ “ His voice was thick as he found it more and more difficult to breathe, just as it was thick with foolishness. He gasped around his own throat, clearing it once more.

” _Yes,_ “ Archie said, using an old tin can for an ashtray. He looked at him curiously. ” _Tell me when you first met the stars and the sun._ “

A sigh. Fredrick stooped over the table, hands coming together on the metal that passed its smell onto his hands, like blood. “ _Her brother introduced us about a year ago.”_


	2. Chapter 2

##  **_12 months prior_ **

She was in the society pages again. At the fête, when she made her way from room to room, clutching her champagne glass, flanked by girls wearing their Chanel dresses, Dominique wore a different Christian Dior than the one in her full-length photograph in  _L'Exceptionelle_. She laughed like the low rumble of an exciting engine, and uniformed men, bright-eyed youths and elite officers alike, lined up the whole night to light her cigarettes, and wouldn't she like one more glass of champagne?

Blaise-Antonin Hadrien Mignon, her older brother, heir to the Mignon Motion Pictures fortune and current chief executive officer of the 'family business', hosted this little get-together, the mingling of the German higher-ups with the finest French producers, directors, actors, actresses, and, most importantly, Dominique.

He stood on the balcony of the master suite in what had once been his parents' country estate, but which now belonged to him. It all fell on his shoulders, now. Perhaps a bit indelicately, he looked down to where the remaining guests were now gathered in the garden below, crisp uniforms, red dresses, extravagant hats, handbags, jewelry that glimmered under the gas lamplights placed in perfectly manicured intervals. It all fell on his shoulders, now.

Two men had tapped their knuckles to his shoulder to gain his attention, earlier in the night. Two men, asking about his dear Dominique. Blaise-Antonin finished his glass of brandy and went down to the garden to say goodbye to the rest of the guests. It all fell on his shoulders, now, and he had made his decision.

Before his sister could leave for the night, once all the others had gone, he asked her to stay behind for a drink and a smoke. He noticed the wrinkle of her nose as she acquiesced, and her standard-issue, nondescript Wehrmacht driver frowned, having to wait longer. Blaise-Antonin paid him no mind--he was a soldier, after all, inept enough to be given off as a driver to a Parisian socialite.

Blaise-Antonin led her upstairs to a room they'd been forbidden to tread when they were youngsters, what had once been their father's study/office. An attendant had already stoked the fire, although the weather had already begun to turn, the season warming. It was the sight of it, large, ornate, roaring, that he had wanted to see. It had always made their father seem so powerful, standing before it, swirling a glass of liquor carefully in one hand, the stem falling beneath his thumb and forefinger.

He poured himself a drink, and instructed Simone to bring a Campari for his sister.

" _Chilled_ ," Dominique instructed coolly as the maid was leaving. " _With prosecco_."

Blaise-Antonin stood with one arm on the mantle. He swept his hair back and looked at her. Finely arched brow, lacquered eyelashes, lips an impeccable and daring shade of red. Her costume was complete, wrapped in that Dior gown. She made no move at first, but finally, her eyes on him, Dominique sank delicately into one of the ancient, brown leather chairs, butter soft. From her clutch, she retrieved her Tiffany's cigarette holder, the ornate silver case.

She raised those finely arched eyebrows at her brother. " _Got a light?_ "

" _You've run out of German soldiers and officers, I see_ ," Blaise-Antonin said, nodding at the gold cigarette lighter on the table beside her. He noted the slight narrowing of her eyes, the dissatisfaction, but only lifted his chin, turning his glass in his hand.

" _Don't pretend that wasn't exactly what you intended to happen,_ " Dominique said breezily on the exhale, that cigarette holder poised perfectly between her gloved fingers.

" _Even so_ ," he said, his body tensing. No. He did not have to  _ask_  anything from her. He lifted his chin again, swirled his drink. " _I'm sure you're well aware of your cadre of admirers. There's never been one loves attention quite so much as you._ "

Just the slightest roll of her eyes, just the softest raise of a smirk. " _Hardly. We aren't here to quarrel, dearest brother, so what ever has compelled you to request such a late audience?_ "

His jaw squared. " _I was approached by one of the SS's finest this evening over the course of our little soiree, after he had met you. Colonel Hans Landa._ "

" _We've met before_ ," Dominique corrected him. Simone brought her drink, left it for her on a cocktail napkin next to the lighter, and quickly left. " _He was more comfortable speaking with me today because he had spared no effort in running as secure a background check on me and my doings as he possibly could. I wouldn't say that he was overly familiar, but he seemed...informal._ "

" _Colonel Landa asked for my permission to begin courting you as a wife._ " He hated her cackle, how it made her sound like an old hag, how it was only ever in response to something  _he_  had said or done. Blaise-Antonin felt his cheeks grow a little warmer as his agitation rose. " _He is not the one that I have chosen, however._ " It did give him some satisfaction that his sister quit laughing, that she froze, in fact, staring at him.

" _He is not the one you have chosen_ ," she repeated in a voice that let him know, immediately, he had won the battle for upper hand. He couldn't help but smirk at the way she subtly scrambled. " _What are you talking about, exactly, brother dear?"_

Feeling powerful, feeling decisive, Blaise-Antonin felt steel in his spine. " _Tomorrow, you will be joining Fredrick Zoller for a private screening of one of Doktor Goebbels' films and then lunch_."

" _Who in God's name is Fredrick Zoller?_ " Dominique gazed at him openly and reached for the forgotten Campari. " _What in God's name are you on about, Blaise?_ "

He had her full attention now. " _He's not a bad-looking kid. He's the one who killed all of those Americans in that bell tower, over in Italy, by himself._ "

Dominique gave an impatient shrug, hanging on the edge of her seat. " _Are you planning on telling me what that has to do with me?_ "

" _Watch your tone_ ," Blaise-Antonin warned.

Dominique huffed cynically. " _And who are you to remind me of my tone? I'm a fully grown woman--"_

" _You are a fully grown brat, is what you are_ ," he said quickly, his lip beginning to curl. " _A fully blown rat, more like. **I**  am the executor of your trust and estate. I run the business while you appear in photographs and spend half the nights drinking and the other doing...hopefully nothing too unfortunate._"

Dominique smirked at him again and maintained her poise, sitting back in the chair. "Blaise..." She sighed piteously. " _I'll go to the cinema with this Fredrick Zoller boy, if it makes you happy and eases whatever... **this**  is._" She gestured widely.

" _You spent fifteen minutes in his presence this evening,_ " Blaise-Antonin said. " _He lit you a cigarette, he spoke French fluently. You still don't remember him, or do you and this is just more of Domino's Legendary Histrionics?_ "

Now her back straightened, her chin lifted, and she was looking down those long, lacquered lashes. " _I can live without being your favourite person, Blaise. As I said, I'll go on this little **playdate**  that you've arranged and appease the baby German._"

" _Private Zoller is one year your senior._ "

Dominique lifted her eyebrow and shrugged.

Now Blaise-Antonin sighed. " _I will make this much simpler for you, and then you may be on your way back into the city to that apartment that I pay for._ "

" _That our parents left for my expenses_ ," Dominique corrected him.

" _Money runs out when there's none coming in,_ " he said sharply, hand slamming against the mantle. He finished his glass and stepped away from the fireplace, palms down on the desk, glaring over at his only sister. " _There's one doorway through which French cinema is made nowadays, Domino, and I know you know very well who that doorway is._ "

She nodded once, trying to convey through her eyes how unimpressed she was. "Doktor Goebbels."

" _Yes_ ," Blaise-Antonin smiled and snapped his fingers. " _Precisely. Maybe you aren't as empty-headed as you seem. I'll fill in the rest of the blanks for you. Dear Doktor Goebbels is the one who brought along this no-name Fredrick Zoller--or he was no-name, no account, no class, before his heroic actions._ "

Dominique rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose.

" _There's a film to be made, that's the rumour,_ " he continued. "S _tarring Fredrick Zoller himself, about his military exploits, to be written, produced, and directed by none other than Dr. Joseph Goebbels._ "

She sneered in earnest now and shook her head at her drink. " _I will **not**  carry on some sort of public affair with a German just so you can indirectly kiss Goebbels' ass._"

" _Of course not. You'll accept his proposal for marriage._ "

Dominique was frozen again, but the heat of her eyes and her cheeks brought her visage back to life and slowly she stood. " _You have lost your tenuous grip on your own sanity. Forgetting that momentarily, how do you know that this two-bit **private**  would even ask to marry me?_"

" _Because he's a rising star in cinema, loves French films, you are beautiful, you come from wealth and esteem, take your pick._ " Blaise-Antonin poured himself another drink. " _You will carry on the public affair, you will cultivate the affections of Fredrick Zoller, you will draw in Joseph Goebbels, you will marry his little pet project, you will **save our parents’ legacy** , do you understand me, you ungrateful little brat?_"

" _And how **proud**  our father would be, to know his only son is whoring out his only daughter--_"

Blaise-Antonin reached out and struck her.

She looked more shocked than in pain, but a red mark was appearing on her cheek. Her jaw had dropped open, and she was glaring at him with open hatred. " _I do not want to marry some no account German._ "

Her brother scoffed, draining his glass again. He placed his hand on his sister's shoulder, caressed her cheek with the other. " _Mignon Pictures will not flounder and die. Our father's legacy will not die like a fish in dirty water, it will **grow** , it will  **prosper** , it will  **thrive** , and--listen to me, listen to me, beautiful, charismatic Domino Mignon..._" Blaise-Antonin leaned closer and stroked the angry red blotch on her cheekbone. " _I would let the whole of the Wehrmacht, all twelve million of them and their half a million-odd horses, all of them, fuck you, one by one, whore you out to man and beast alike, if that was what it took. Now, don't keep your driver waiting any longer--I trust you have enough cosmetics to cover any bruises. Dr. Goebbels will contact your driver with instructions tomorrow morning. Sleep well, Domino_."

The quiet sting of tears in her eyes was intensified by the cool air of the night. Dominique Mignon saw her driver still standing beside her car, dressed head to toe in uniform. He looked at her for half a beat, the same frown set on his face as usual, before he opened the door for her and climbed into the front seat. He looked back at her a few times as he drove her through the countryside and into the city, reaching her posh flat in her posh arrondissement in a timely fashion. Her expression had not changed throughout the ride, and it didn't when he held the door open for her again.

Dominique reached inside her clutch with barely shaking hands for a cigarette, and the driver wordlessly provided a light. She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. Now it was her time to make a decision. She lifted her chin and exhaled so that the smoke did not go near his face. " _Who are you? What are you?_ " His nostrils flared and she realised at once that he did not actually speak French. She switched to German, repeating her questions.

" _Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz,_ " he said slowly, in a voice with pleasant timbre and tolerant tone. " _I've been your driver for six weeks."_

" _I know that,_ " Dominique nodded, still looking him over. Her decision was made. She flicked her eyes towards the doorman. " _Walk me inside, Sergeant Stiglitz._ "


	3. Chapter 3

Lieutenant Aldo Raine sighed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, eyes on the blinky little bulb above their heads. "We already  _know_  each other, son."

Hugo Stiglitz was no stranger to handcuffs or chains. Being tethered to the table did not bother him much, and he had no interest in this line of questioning. His hands were folded neatly on the table before him, his eyes straight ahead.

Again, Aldo sighed. "This ain't about you, it ain't about your involvement in espionage or Nazism, 'cause you ain't neither one of those things. You're just a guy, much like myself. I pulled a few strings to get to question you myself, 'cause I figured it'd be easier for you to talk. Ain't asking you to do nothing but talk."

Several moments of silence passed. Hugo didn't look at him, still. "When does Donny come in and bash my brains in with a bat? Isn't that the standard for insubordination?"

Aldo shoved the back of the chair he wasn't sitting in and scratched his chin. Okay. Kid was trying to get up underneath his skin. "Nah, what  _they_  did to you for insubordination stripped off some of the meat from your back, ain't that right?"

Hugo's nostrils flared.

"You want a cigarette?" Aldo asked, chancing a smile. "Huh? Wanna cigarette, kiddo?"

"Shut up, shut up!" Hugo hissed.

"Aw, there we go, there it's started!" Aldo sat down at the table, grinning at him, and passed him a single cigarette and match. "I just wanna know more about your girlfriend, that's all."

"Mhm, that's why I'm handcuffed to a table," Hugo said, balancing the cigarette between his lips. He waited a moment. "Thank you."

"I know this ain't gonna be your favourite thing," Aldo said, again looking upward. It wasn't about the light, just a thing he did. He gave a small shrug. "Ain't my favourite thing, neither. You're one of my boys, I don't want you across a table from me with iron cuffs. I told you when I met you that you had to have a friend in a pretty high place." He sniffed. "I didn't know who that was, but you did. She got a real kick ass nickname. Domino. I can't win a game of dominos to save my life. Now I'm ramblin' a bit, need you to get me back on track."

After another thoughtful pause, Hugo shook his head. "I think the best way to protect Domino is to say nothing."

Aldo leaned closer right away. "Protect her from  _what_?"

"Am I under arrest? Formally?" Hugo asked.

"Son, please," Aldo said, though his voice didn't soften. He made a fist and closed his eyes, hit the table gently. "This is the only way  _I_  can protect  _you_ , you understand that?"

Hugo echoed his previous words. "Protect me from  _what_?"

Aldo chewed on his lip and nodded to himself a few times before leaning across the table again, leaning down so he could look Hugo dead in the eye. "You help them, you get a life out of this shithole. Wasn't ever concrete, but I always told you I'd do the best I could for you once this war was over, and it's over now. American citizenship, military benefits, pension, same recognition as the rest of my boys, all of it,  _yours_."

Now Hugo shook his head. "Then take it. Tell them to take it and shove it right up their dicks, I don't want it if I have to--"

"You don't even know what the hell they want!" Aldo shouted. "You're acting like a goddamn fool! This ain't what you do to folks that are trying to help you, Stiglitz."

"If there is a chance that what I say will in any way harm Domino Mignon or my baby, then, I'm sorry, Aldo, truly, I am, but I'm also not. You're right. She's the reason you all got pointed in my direction. Without her words, I would've been taken to Berlin and executed. You're asking me to remember your role in my survival, and I am. As you said, I have her to thank, and she's mine to protect."

"You  _know_  she's married."

Hugo's nostrils flared. "Yes."

"So you don't know who the hell knocked her up."

Bruised and bloody fists slammed against the table and there was an  _awful_  echo in the small steel and cement room. Hugo was standing, bent at an odd angle due to the cuffs and chains. Aldo didn't flinch, but he shook his restraints and they cut into his skin even more.

"Stop," Aldo said. He raised his voice. " _Stop_. Sit  _down_  and let me help you."

"Is Fredrick Zoller still alive?" Hugo demanded.

"I don't know," Aldo responded. "Why? What's it matter? You had an affair, didn't you? You didn't care if he was around before, why now?"

Hugo sat back down. "Is Domino in custody?"

Aldo just kept on looking at him.

"You fuck!" Hugo hit the table again. "Well? Who has her? You Americans? The British?" Watching Aldo's face, Hugo tightened his restraints again and his arms shook against them. "The Germans? The Germans have Domino Mignon? You tell me, Aldo, you fucking tell me  _right now_..."

It wasn't anger Aldo was looking at, which would've been at home on Hugo Stiglitz's face. It was fear, and it was the fear of an animal backed into a corner, making its last stand. It wasn't right on Stiglitz. Not at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Domino pulled on a white satin robe when she left the bathroom and the German was trying to button his shirt in the relative dark. She watched him for a few short moments, at the speed with which his fingers moved, over and over, making mistakes, trying to fix them. Her eyes hungered for the smooth, lean muscle of his back. Thinking quickly, she pulled out a cigarette for each of them from the globe dispenser given to her by Blaise-Antonin for her eighteenth birthday. She lit her own and presented the other to the German; she'd left the lighter on the table.

He placed the cigarette between his lips and leaned down to light it off of hers, and she smiled.

Her discomfort and anxieties were richly covered by the softness of her robe, the smooth flavour of the smoke, and the little rasp of a laugh from her throat. "So," she said in his native language. "What did you do to make them so angry?"

Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz looked her dead in the eye as he puffed. "What makes you important enough for an armed driver?"

Domino smirked softly. "I think it has more to do with your availability than my own importance. Something to do with you. I wonder why they didn't just demote you? Or would it have been worse to admit they'd made a mistake in your promotion to begin with?"

"The German army can't own its mistakes?"

She lifted her brow, brightening even more. "A German admits the German army makes mistakes?"

Dark blue eyes scrutinised her, rolling and narrowing as his mind worked out a response--until they stopped, focused on a single point on her face. Hugo pulled her firmly towards the window, where silvery moonlight poured into the room. "Even better question. Why did your brother hit you?"

Domino shoved his hands away from herself, did so again when he reached out to touch the mark on her cheek. "No one has hit me."

"It doesn't shock me that you're a liar," Hugo said coolly, still staring at the mark. "It does shock me he was stupid enough to hit you in the face."

She blinked heavily. "Well, I personally find it shocking that you could be so bold and familiar."

"As bold and familiar as taking me upstairs to fuck me?" Hugo used her genuine surprise to take the chance to touch his thumb lightly over her injury. "A German didn't do this. You're not close enough to any of them. It was your ass of a brother. Why did he do it?"

Domino didn't react initially, but then gave him slow applause. "Bravo, Mr. Holmes, you've solved the mystery."

"Obviously, I haven't." Hugo finished his cigarette. "He shouldn't hit you. You shouldn't let anyone hit you."

She rolled her eyes. "I did not present my face for him to strike, he simply did so."

Now his response was delayed. "It's not about allowing it to happen, it's about not allowing it to happen with impunity."

"All right, Montresor," Domino huffed.

Hugo grinned crookedly, his hand on the door. "Figure out your revenge on Fortunato. I'd suggest something a little more subtle than immurement."

Domino's nose wrinkled when she smiled. "Can you come early tomorrow?"

He shook his head and put on his hat. "No. But I can stay late."

* * *

 

She recognised Fredrick Zoller right away where he stood outside the theatre, which had been closed for the day for their purposes. He had a very characteristic smile, one that she couldn't quite place with words, but felt was unique to him, to his face. When the man she'd slept with the night before opened the door and let her out of the vehicle, Fredrick stepped forward, still smiling, brimming with excitement.

"Mademoiselle Mignon," he said, starry-eyed. The driver slammed his door and drove away. His French was exquisite, fluent. "I cannot express my gratitude that you've agreed to meet me here and see the film with me. You are looking...Excuse me, that was quite forward and out of turn, my apologies."

Domino took in his nervous grin and determined it was sincere, managed to smile back. "Nonsense, Freddy. One must never deprive a lady of her flattery."

He laughed softly and offered her his arm. "Of course you're right, Mad--"

"Domino."

"--Domino." His hand closed gently over the crook of her elbow and he led her inside the theatre to the large, ornate auditorium. The room was already darkened, and cool, the projector reel flickering. Fredrick took her to the middle seats of the middle row and looked up, giving some signal, and the soundtrack began.

Focusing on the film was difficult to do; Most films didn't hold her interest for long periods of time, and she abhorred the tired old message and rhetoric embedded in each of Joseph Goebbels' movies. She very nearly fell asleep once, but woke up when Fredrick's hand tightened over hers during a swell of music and action on the screen, and she could pretend to be as rapt as he was. 

"I have to say, I'm quite embarrassed," Fredrick said with some genuine colour on his cheeks as they rode to a favourite bistro of Goebbels'. His eyes flicked away, his smile grew more bashful and demure. "I did not expect this to happen. I couldn't help but remark to Dr. Goebbels on what a perfect star you would make for one of his films, and he sussed me out right away, of course. He knew I was taken with you, and he organised..." He made a little gesture. "I know that I did nothing more than annoy you yesterday evening, but even so, I'm so delighted to have the opportunity to while away an afternoon with you, Domino."

She remembered her argument with Blaise-Antonin the night before, how casually he laid down the line for her to lay down her body to this...boy. Warmth rushed up her thighs as she recalled the way Hugo Stiglitz's hands had looked on her skin, how strong his arms were when he held her, fucked her harder than he probably would have if he'd known he was the first. She felt a pleasant tingle and shifted just slightly to face Fredrick.

The only choice she had was how she wanted Fredrick to see her, because she had been promised already, like a prize. She could be something to be taken and conquered, or she could be a goddess to which he owed his life. Domino plucked a cigarette for her clutch and waited for him to offer her a light. He was watching the cherry red of her lips form a soft pout as she inhaled.

"Freddy." Smoke curled out of her nostrils and she told herself she was the dragon. "Has anyone ever told you that you smile like the starlight in an angel's eyes?"

His pupils dilated as he took in breath and held it there briefly. No, clearly they had not. Oh, what a pity there'd never been a girl to break his heart before. What a pity there was no cynicism in the pathways of his heart that would help him. He was ready to carve it from his chest with that glistening and boyish smile still on his face and press it into her hands.

It wasn't Domino that spoiled his smile. Fredrick rushed to open her door for her and was still grinning like mad when she took his arm again and they walked inside the bistro. He was still speaking in quick and quite beautiful French when a great shadow fell between them and their steps stopped.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Mignon!" Colonel Hans Landa took her hand and kissed it as if Fredrick were not even there. It took her by surprise. By all Blaise had told her, he'd rejected the colonel's courtship of her entirely. "You look in need of good company. Come, come, Dr. Goebbels asked that you be whisked away to his table if you arrived in time before his leaving."

Fredrick could hardly get a word in edgewise until Goebbels was preparing to leave and asked that Landa accompany him and 'leave the poor boy alone with his sweetheart'. Landa stood graciously from the table and made a nice little show of apologising to Domino and, indirectly, to Fredrick, although he did offer vague congratulations to the private as Goebbels left the dining area with that French whore of his.

Then his lips curved into a warm smile and his eyes were on hers as he kissed her hand again. "It was wonderful to see you again, Mademoiselle Mignon. Enjoy the rest of your meal, and, should ever the need arise, take my card, do give a call, day or night. Auf Wiedersehen, Fraulein."

By that point, she had had more than enough, and, when the colonel had left them, finally, she picked up her glass of wine and regarded Fredrick carefully. "Oh, thank God. Alone at last!"

His agitation was still stiff in his features, but he did perk somewhat, sifting his fork through a pile of potatoes. "Yes. I hate to speak ill of a superior officer..."

"So you won't," Domino said with a devilish glint in her eye, leaning close to Fredrick to speak in his ear. "But I can. Maybe he is as good as they say at hunting Jews, but could he ever outshine your smile or your talent? Of course not, du schöner Mann."

Fredrick's enthusiasm came rushing back to him and it wasn't until the maître d' came to rouse them from their table (with terrible regrets, when he realised to whom he was speaking that the date came to an end. The separate cars were waiting for them. Hugo looked as unfriendly as he ordinarily did, and Fredrick kissed both of Domino's cheeks and held her hands, asking her to promise him to let him call on her again.

Seated in the back of the car, Domino could only hold herself together for as long as it took Hugo to begin driving away. Then her laughter filled their small shared space, and he kept looking back at her with annoyance.

"What the fuck is so funny?" he demanded, all formalities whatsoever apparently thrown out the window, now.

Domino was still laughing as she made him carry empty boxes from boutiques inside with her, and his impatience was palpable. After she shut the door to her flat, Hugo inside with her, the boxes toppling to the floor, she briefly explained about the wide-eyed youth and the aging officer, spiteful as an old crow.

Hugo took a cigarette out of his breast pocket and glared at her. "How damn delightful, you'll have half the German high command pawing at your skirt by nightfall."

She laughed harder, now. "You are  _terrible_  at hiding your feelings, you know?"

"Oh ja?" He stepped closer to her, kicking empty boxes aside. "What am I feeling?"

"Jealous," Domino said with no trace of fear or apprehension. She touched his chest a few times with the tip of her finger. "Because, just like the others, you don't own me, and, even if you have no interest in me, the idea of competition burns you up."

Hugo was still glaring at her, tossed the unlit cigarette aside. He was so close to her now that the gentle shaking of her laughter brought them into contact several times, and his height loomed over her. "Don't flatter yourself, Fraulein."

She only grinned at him. "Hugo," she said, arms winding around him, eyes matching her smile. She looked down at his lips for just a moment, announcing her intentions for them. "Never deprive a lady of her flattery."


End file.
